The Driven Snowe (23 page)

No. You have
yourself
to thank for that.

But she did have him to thank for so many other wonderful things in her life. She had a wealth of opportunity in front of her. This year, Italy—next year, who knew what? The options were unlimited.

She thought, briefly and painfully, of her last meeting with Josh.

Well, there's one limit.

She didn't want to take off crying. She quickly shifted thoughts to stuffing her rolling bag in the overhead, tucking her smaller carry-on in the space in front of her. She had a window seat. She wanted to see the view.

Why can't I get more excited by this?

She buckled her seat belt. She couldn't get more excited because a part of her still expected Josh to somehow fix this. He was a planner, someone who fixed things. He'd always been so understanding. She couldn't believe that he wasn't doing something elaborate to try and get her back, to show her he loved her. To somehow make this work.

She still felt that as she stared, sightless, at the paperback novel in front of her. It was a horror novel, by one of Josh's favorite authors. She closed the book as they prepared the cabin, and kept her eyes shut as they started down the runway.

He didn't do anything.

The realization hit, and hit hard. She stared out the window, looking at nothing, feeling the pressure of the plane as it blasted down the runway and turned into the dreamy floating of takeoff. She didn't cry, and as long as she stared and fought it, she wouldn't.

It's all over.

She didn't know how long she sat like that, frozen, staring.

“Angela? Angela Snowe?”

She glanced over, glad her eyes were dry. Maybe she'd get some sleep. It was the stewardess.

“Yes?” Her drink order. She considered getting the strongest drink they offered. Maybe it would help her sleep through the flight, take the edge off for a while. She just needed to hold on until she could reach Bethany in Florence. Then she could completely fall apart.

The flight attendant handed her an envelope. “This is for you.”

Angela stared at it blankly. “What is it?”

The woman simply smiled. “It's for you,” she repeated.

She looked at it for a moment.
Angela Snowe,
sure enough, printed on the front of the cream-colored envelope.

Her heart started to pound.

Don't hope, you idiot.

She opened it, slowly. She glanced over the words, recognized Josh's bold, clear handwriting.

Angela swallowed hard at that. She could picture him, writing it slowly and thoughtfully. And he was right—if she'd read this anywhere but on the plane, she'd be canceling her ticket and going to him, with all the possibilities of resentment that it would have created.

Now she was more than swallowing hard. She felt her eyes rim with tears, brushed them away impatiently with the back of her hand.

By the time she got to his signature— “All my love, Josh”—she was crying steadily.

I could hijack the plane. Make it turn around.

She laughed at herself, hiccupping slightly through her tears. No. That wasn't the point of this, was it?

He loved her.

He was willing to wait for her.

She sat back, finally feeling the first twinges of excitement coursing through her. He loved her. He'd wait.

She could do anything.

 

T
WO WEEKS
. It had been two weeks since he'd given that stewardess the envelope for Angela. He had no idea how it had panned out. Or if she'd even gotten it at all.

He was doing pretty well, for an insane person. He'd managed to get a lot of business traveling done. At least it was slightly easier to sleep in a bed that was strange to him, rather than in his now eerily quiet house. He wasn't comfortable there. If he wasn't working late, then he was out with Adam, or out by himself.

He left his Palm Pilot at home for these outings, like tonight at the Cable Car. He hadn't scheduled anything, and women who approached him for whatever reason got the most polite brush-off he could manage.

You're not her.

What was she thinking? Was she thinking of him? Had she forgiven him?

He ran his fingers through his hair, and glanced at the bartender. Without a word, the bartender studied
him, shook his head, and popped open another beer for him.

“Man, you're one sorry guy,” Adam said, walking up next to him. “Everybody in town's noticed it. Josh Montgomery, finally falling in love. And finally getting dumped.”

“I haven't officially been dumped,” Josh said, hoping he was joking. He took a long draw off the beer bottle. “She just needed some space.”

Adam patted his shoulder in male sympathy. “Needing some space. If you say so, Josh… No. I'm really sorry, man. That's right up there with washing her hair when it comes to brush-offs. It's not great, but it's a definite breakup.”

“I don't believe that. I can't believe that,” Josh said. “This is what she needs, and dammit, I'm going to trust her on this.”

Adam sat on the bar stool next to him, and sighed. “I'm sorry. I've been where you are, and I know what it's like. But if you suddenly feel the need to start beating on some random stranger who wanders in here, for no good reason, give me a holler. I'll back you up.”

Josh smirked at him. “That's why you're my partner, Adam.”

“And here I thought it was my God-given biochemical acumen—hello, what's this?”

A pretty young woman with black hair and a short skirt sauntered by, giving them both a quick study. She smiled, indicating interest.

Adam raised his eyebrows, then he glanced guiltily at Josh. “Never mind. There are plenty of fish in the sea, right? I'll just hang out with you. You've been alone too often lately.”

“Are you crazy? Did you see the way she smiled at you?” Josh shook his head. “Get over there.”

Adam glanced over to where the girl was now sitting, and openly eyeing him. “You sure?”

“What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?”

“Thanks.” Adam stood up, got ready for his come-on saunter, then stopped. “Call me later. If you need to talk.”

“I'm fine.” Josh lifted his beer in salute, then smirked as Adam walked over and struck up a conversation with the woman.

At least one of us'll be happy.

He wasn't going to think about it. Angela had not left him. She really had loved him—she still did. At least, that's what he was betting on.

The jukebox was going full blast now. The music was loud, heavy on guitar, with a pulsing beat. There was no mistaking the Cable Car for some country honky-tonk bar these days. It was too bad—he could have used the quiet. And while he wasn't a country fan, songs about it being a fine time to be left would probably suit his mood perfectly.

He didn't want to go back to his empty house, but he didn't think he could stay here.

Maybe I could hit a movie…

“Josh?”

He barely made out the female voice.
Definitely can't stay here,
he thought, finishing his beer in one long swallow.

“Hello?”

He turned to see who was talking.

She was wearing her long mahogany hair, loose
and tumbling around her shoulders. Compared to the short skirts, flirty dresses or skintight jeans the other female patrons were sporting, she was wearing a pair of loose-fitting cotton khakis and a T-shirt. Both were fairly rumpled. Her familiar pair of glasses were slightly askew, and she pushed them up unconsciously, moving a lock of hair away from her face at the same time. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

He didn't speak. He barely breathed.

“Do you know how long I've been looking for you?”

He shook his head slowly.

“I went straight to your house from the airport,” she said, taking off her glasses and tucking them carefully in her back pocket. “I waited for about an hour. Then I cruised by your office. Then I cruised by every restaurant in town. I decided to try here next. It was lucky that I saw your car.”

“Angela,” he finally said, leaning close so she could hear him. “What are you doing here?”

She smiled, and it was the sweetest smile he'd ever seen. “Well, I've got this…situation. I was hoping you could help me with it.”

“You don't say.” He felt his heart start to beat again, and a tentative sense of relief crept over him. “Well, I like to think of myself as a helpful guy.”

Her hands touched his shirtfront, ran up his chest until they linked behind his neck. He got the vague sense that people were watching, and quickly brushed it aside. “See, I went on this trip to Italy. I had a terrific time.” She paused.

“And?” he prompted, trying for patience.

“I saw everything I'd only ever read about—the Duomo, St. Peter's, the Uffizi,” she said, with a small
smile. “Everything was one fantastic adventure. There was just one problem—I missed you.”

He swallowed, hard, not wanting to interrupt.

“It wasn't as fantastic as you are,” she said, her eyes never leaving his. “I realized that I wasn't afraid anymore. Of anything. So I told Bethany that she'd be hearing from me soon, and left.”

“What'd she say to that?” Josh asked, wondering if he could take her into his arms now. He waited, wanting her to make the first move.

Angela leaned forward, and he rested his forehead against hers as his heart felt like it would explode. “She said that she hoped I realized she was doing my wedding photography. Then recanted when I told her she was going to be my maid of honor.”

He felt his heart beat faster. “So what do you need my help with?”

“I'm planning a wedding,” she said, slowly. “But I need somebody who loves me, and who still wants to marry me.” Her doe eyes stared at his, full of hope…and nervousness. “Do you think you can help me?”

He studied her, this woman who had changed his life. Then, slowly and with purpose, he leaned down and kissed her with all the love and passion he felt in his heart. She responded eagerly, urgently.

Finally, he pulled away, seeing his own emotion mirrored in her eyes.

“You're in luck,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He held her close. “When it comes to that, I'm a sure thing.”